Tuesday, August 6, 2013

The Parasite

Today was a day of reckoning. I discovered something about me that left me, well, shocked. I almost loathe myself and am feeling very ... okay, I'll admit it.  I should be ashamed.

I am a parasite.  Actually, to describe it even better, I am a writing parasite.

So what is a parasite?  It is, as defined by Dictionary.com - a person who receives support, advantage, or the like, from another.

Well, that is one part of the lengthy description.  Hmm?  Colorful, but not what one would call complimentary, to say the least.

So how do I see myself as a parasite?

Simple.  I write.  I love to write.  I share.  I love to share my stories.  I love to let others read what I have written and bathe in their glorious adulation of my works. My soul soars to unknown heights with each word of praise.

Where is my humbleness?  Where is my shame?

Parasites have no shame.  They live only to seek the nutrients they need.  I write so I may hear a total stranger compliment my writing, spouting words of praise, approval, and admiration. As this stranger speaks, in the background, I can hear choirs of angels singing.  I want to write more.


My editor (the person I pay big bucks to fix my errors) returns this wondrous manuscript I have created. This fantastically coalesced collection of words to amaze all readers who are lucky enough to see it, is returned with corrections.

I start to peruse the edits.

The editor has dumped a 55 gallon barrel of blood all over my document.  In fact, it is still dripping with wetness as I allow it to slip out of the envelope.  What sacrilege is this?

The parasite is mortally wounded.

The cover letter from the editor was suppose to say "Bobbo, it's some of your best writing! It is truly amazing and I could only find a couple of itty-bitty fixes."  But, in reality, the cover letter is "Okay, here it is. You have a lot of POV jumps and punctuation issues. I tried to mark them all. Don't cry when you see the red."

It has been a week.  The parasite is weak.  There has been no influx of praise.  I've barely been able to face the edits.  I have struggled through a few pages.


At the bottom of a page there is a note. "The story is strong, the theme  interesting and you've done a good job of creating your lead characters. Do this assignment <assignment deleted> and it will help not only your characters but this story.

Could that be praise?

"I am a parasite! It sure sounded like praise to me and will take it as such.  Edits, here I come."

Yes, I am what I am. I am a writing parasite who lives on praise.

Until next I ramble on...


  1. Hi, Bob. I congratulate you on saying aloud what all of us have been internalizing! *laughs, then practices* My name is Jim Garcia, and I'm a parasite. Hmm? I guess that wasn't so bad. I'll keep saying it until it becomes easier...
    Best of luck with the edits.


  2. Hi Bob, I'm a parasite too. I'll admit, when folks ask me about my book and I tell them, I also am just waiting for that "this is the greatest thing I ever read" respons. Of course that's why we have editors. To get us back to reality so that what we just spoke about really DOES become the greatest thing they've ever read.

  3. Ha! Don't we all love the praise! Great post!

  4. LOL! I've never looked at a parasite in such a positive way. ;) Great post, Bob!

  5. Hello Bob - I, too, am a parasite. I get weak in the knees when someone gives me praise. It is so good to see others feel the same. Thanks for sharing.